Chapter Summary: The ghosts of the memories that live in her Paris home haunt Christine. She goes to see Madame Giry and tells the older woman of her secret, her guilt, her desperate plans. And their conversation is overheard, their words cutting deep into the hearts of two bystanders.
CHAPTER THIRTY THREE
"Raoul," Christine laughed as her husband stepped away from the closed door, moving easily across the room to wrap his arms around her waist, his hands moving gently across the front of her satin gown.
"You sparkled like a diamond tonight," he whispered in her ear, a single hand moving to the buttons at the back of her gown.
"Oh my," Christine said as she felt her husband's other hand massage its way up her abdomen and over her breast. She melted backward into his chest, her hands moving up to entangle themselves in his soft hair. "Oh I do like that," she whispered and heard her husband chuckle in her ear.
"I know what else you like," Raoul whispered back.
Christine tightened her fingers …
On the doorknobs to which she clung, her eyes slowly opening as the memory slipped from her grasp, back into the darkness of the still bedroom, back into the dim recesses of her mind. "Oh, Raoul," Christine breathed sadly as she crossed the room, pausing in front of the wardrobe …
"I feel so guilty," she said as she looked at the multi-colored gowns hanging in the wardrobe and could hear her husband laughing behind her. She turned to look at him. "I am being serious!"
Raoul sat on the edge of their bed, trying to look solemn and failing miserably. "I know," he managed as he tried to control his laughter.
Christine was exasperated. "Raoul! If I keep wearing a new dress every night, people will think I only married you for your money!"
"If you do not wear a new dress every night, people will be scandalized and think I am a miser who is mistreating my wife."
Christine crossed the room to stand before him; her hands going about his neck as Raoul buried his head in her stomach, his arms wrapping about her thin waist. "You are the one person in this world who would never mistreat me," she told him as she leaned over …
And buried her face in the pillow she held. The odor of Raoul's cologne wafted upward wrapping her in its spicy embrace, as she hugged the pillow tightly to her chest. Christine moved up the bed, allowing herself to be drawn back to a time when she knew there would always be assurance and comfort …
"Please, do not cry," Raoul begged as Christine sat down on the edge of the bed, her arms wrapping about her waist.
"I cannot help it," she replied and turned to look over her shoulder at the man lounging on the bed behind her. "I failed you again."
Raoul's hands reached out for her and drew back, as he thought better of his actions. "You did not fail me," he said softly.
Christine sniffled and wiped at her tears. "But there is still no child. I know what rests on our having a child. I know how much you want a child and I desperately want to be a mother." Her chin trembled. "Yet I cannot seem to do something that comes so easily for every other woman." Her sobs overwhelmed her and Christine placed her head in her hands. She felt Raoul's gentle touch on her arms, pulling her down to rest beside him.
"I cannot bear to see you weep, love," Raoul whispered. "There will be a child for us, of that I am sure. God will just do it in His own time." He smiled against the dark curls tickling his chin, kissing the head to which they were attached. "And just think of all the time we will have to practice."
Christine choked, the sound a cross between a laugh and a sob ...
And still the tears would not come. Christine curled into a fetal position on Raoul's side of the bed, hugging his pillow to her chest. She lay there, in the darkened room she had shared with her husband, feeling wisps of memory close in about her. Christine squeezed her eyes shut against them, bright lights dancing on her closed eyelids and in those lights Christine could see the glow of Raoul's eyes as he would reach for her. In the stray breeze from an open window, she could feel his gentle fingertips as they danced over the lines of her neck, downward over curves, stopping to tickle behind knees as she squealed in delight. The call of a night bird followed the breeze into the room and caused Christine to clasp her hands over her ears as she heard Raoul's contented sigh as he drew her limp, satiated body into his embrace.
"I cannot do this," Christine whispered as she got to her feet, the memories turning into demons. "I cannot do this!" she cried as she bolted from the room, the demons hard on her heels.
"There are so many rooms!"
"And you have free rein to do as you wish with them," he told her.
Christine fled down the upper hallway, running down the stairs, ignoring the banister.
"This is far too grand! I will never be able to manage a household such as this!"
"You will," he told her as he took her hand, "and I shall be with you every step of the way. We are in this together. I will not let you falter and I know you shall never let me."
Christine reached the bottom of the staircase and ignored the startled valet as she ran down the hallway, uncertain of her destination as she tried to escape the demons stalking her.
She watched his face as he read the menu she handed him and bit her fingernail; for the first time she could find no expression on his refined features. "It is all wrong," she worried aloud. "I told you I was not yet ready to plan a whole dinner party." She was rather put out when he laughed.
"It is perfect!" he told her as he placed the menu on the dining table, took her hand and drew it to his lips. "You really must start trusting your judgement." He smiled at her and she melted. "As much as I trust you."
Christine flung open the door to Raoul's study and slammed it shut behind her. She leaned against the closed doors, eyes shut, chest heaving. As her panicked breathing eased, Christine listened to the silence about her and as she realized the only sound she could hear was the pounding of her pulse, she opened her eyes.
Moonlight streamed in through the French windows that led out into the back garden. It colored everything in the room pale silver, deepening the dark shadows where it could not reach. The room had an ethereal feel, almost as if it were another land in another time. Christine moved away from the door that kept the demons at bay and crossed the room, pausing in the midst of the light to look about her. Here, among the familiar things that had formed her husband's life, she found sanctuary. Here, with memories of Raoul staring at her from every corner, Christine could feel her demons begin to melt away. She moved to the chair behind Raoul's desk, sinking into the leather that had molded to his body. Christine's hands moved over the smooth edges of her husband's desk as trembling fingers searched for a familiar touch. Christine raised her eyes and saw her reflection smiling at her from the opposite wall.
"Is that how you saw me?" she asked into the silent room, remembering the day she had begun to sit for the artist Raoul had hired.
"Madame," the artist opined, "I cannot do you justice if you do not smile."
"I feel silly," she had replied.
"You do not look silly," a voice said from the doorway.
She had looked up to see her husband standing there in his riding clothes, his hair slightly disheveled. She had blushed at the look he had given her, a smile crossing her lips.
"That is what I meant!" the artist exclaimed and nodded to the man in the doorway. "I shall expect you to be here for every sitting."
"Oh, Raoul," Christine sighed as she leaned back in her husband's chair, sinking into his familiar form. She closed her eyes; no longer able to fight the sleep that sought her out, as she felt Raoul's spirit wash over and through her. And it was there, in the room that had been her husband's sanctuary, that Christine slept the night away.
The next morning found Christine rested but still pale, the demons of the previous night waiting just beyond reach for her to make that last fatal mistake, waiting to ensnare her, waiting to take away her last tenuous hold to sanity. She knew they were there and she knew they waited and she knew they could not reach her in this place. Christine let out a long trembling sigh and allowed the gentle rocking motion of the coach to lull her into a sense of peace – no matter how fleeting. She could still feel her nerves tingling as she realized she was breaking the rules of etiquette she had been taught by venturing into the outside world. Christine knew she should have been locked in her home, mourning her loss but there was someone she needed to see. Someone she needed to make understand. Someone whose approval she needed.
"Madame," a voice called to her and Christine looked up, realizing the coach had stopped and her driver was holding out a hand.
Christine draped her black veil over her head; it was becoming a familiar comforting habit, something behind which she could hide. She took the hand that was extended and stepped from the coach, turning to look at the driver. "Wait here for me, please," she said softly and walked the few steps to the front door of the comfortable home. Christine raised her hand and knocked softly; she did not have to wait long for an answer.
The door opened to reveal a young woman, with straight brown hair and gray eyes. She was dressed simply in a skirt and blouse, an apron covering her clothes. "May I help you?" she asked.
Christine handed the young woman the card in her hand and watched the reaction that crossed the other woman's face. She could feel her heart breaking at the stunned and shocked look on the other woman's face; she had let Raoul down again by breaking the rules he had taught her.
The other woman raised her eyes and stepped aside. "Please come in," she said, allowing Christine to enter the home before closing the door. She watched as Christine drew back her widow's veil, her heart sinking as she saw the beauty and the tragedy that was her greatest nightmare. "I will let Madame know you are here," Tallis said.
"Thank you," Christine replied softly.
Tallis walked quickly and quietly down the hall to the room where she had left Madame Giry talking with her other guest, fighting back the urge to run and scream. She struggled to keep her composure even as she could feel her future slipping through her fingers. I am imagining it, Tallis thought to herself. It is only my imagination. She opened the door to the sitting room.
"Who was at the door, my dear?" Antoinette asked as she looked up. "What is wrong?" she demanded as she saw the stricken look on Tallis' face.
Erik, too, had seen the look and he rose to his feet, ready to protect this woman who said she loved him without question.
Tallis purposefully ignored Erik as she crossed the room to place Christine's calling card into Antoinette's hand.
Erik looked at Antoinette, his apprehension growing as he watched the color drain from her face.
"Truly?" Antoinette asked as she raised her face to Tallis.
"Yes," Tallis replied simply.
"What is it?" Erik's temper and anxiety was growing by the moment. "What is wrong? Who is at the door?"
Tallis looked to Antoinette who nodded her head before turning to Erik, taking his hands in her own. "There is a young woman in widow's dress at the front door." She watched Erik's eyes grow wide. "It is your Christine," Tallis told him and waited for a violent reaction, waited for him to draw away from her. She felt as Erik's grip tightened on her hands and she winced at the pressure he exerted.
"She is not my Christine," he hissed between clenched teeth before turning to Antoinette. "I need to see her."
"Not now, Erik," Antoinette told him with a shake of her head. "She cannot have come all the way back to Paris without a reason." She watched as Erik opened his mouth and Antoinette stopped him with a raised hand. "Let me speak with her." Antoinette saw the indecision written across Erik's face. "Erik, for the love of all that is holy! Do you even know if Christine knows you yet live? Do you think she will be pleased to walk in here and find you breathing barely two weeks after she has buried her husband? A man, I might remind you, that you hated."
Erik stared at Antoinette and turned his attention back to Tallis. "She is not my Christine," he said again before flinging Tallis' hands away from himself and storming toward the door.
"Erik," Tallis called after him. "Please do not …"
"Stop!" Antoinette said simply, her tone of voice commanding and not to be ignored.
Erik paused at the door, his hand on the knob. "What do you want from me?"
"I want you to go to the kitchen and wait there," Antoinette ordered, knowing even Erik would not disobey her command. "I do not want Christine to see you." She emphasized her next words. "At all. Is that understood."
"Yes," Erik muttered under his breath.
"Pardon?" Antoinette wondered. "I did not quite hear that."
Erik half-turned his head, his visage red and angry. "I said I heard you."
Antoinette leaned back in her chair. "That is what I thought you said." She turned her attention to Tallis. "Bring Christine to me and then go to the kitchen and wait until I come for you."
"I do not need a babysitter," Erik said.
Antoinette saw what he could not, the tears in Tallis' eyes at his words. "No," she agreed. "You do not need a babysitter; you need a keeper."
Erik's shoulders drooped as some of his anger deflated at Antoinette's harsh words. "You need not worry about me," he said softly, his tone of voice bearing a resigned defeat. "I shall do nothing foolish."
"Do not tell me," Antoinette replied, knowing Erik would understand and she watched as he held out a hand to Tallis.
"I'll not do anything foolish," he repeated as Tallis took his offered hand, allowing him to draw her into his embrace.
Tallis buried her face in his shoulder as she felt his arms go about her. She could sense something different in the way he held her; gone was the gentle desperation with which she had grown familiar. It was replaced by a trembling anger, a passion that she had seen only felt once before in Erik's arms. Now as she once again witnessed the reaction a mere name could raise in Erik's breast, Tallis sensed something crack deep within as she realized she was not the one who had so stirred this passion. She burrowed her head further in Erik's shoulder, her eyes closing tightly as she tried to cling to her dreams, her illusions.
"I will be in the kitchen," Erik whispered to her as a means of assurance.
Tallis nodded her head, opening her eyes as Erik removed his arms from about her and left the room, quietly walking down the hall toward the kitchen. Tallis reached up to wipe at her eyes. "I should go," she said and left Antoinette alone in the room.
Antoinette raised her eyes to the finely plastered ceiling. "God," she prayed, "give me strength."
A moment later, her attention was pulled away as Tallis re-entered the room, Christine following closely behind. Antoinette was on her feet and across the room to take Christine in her arms. "Oh my dear," she said and drew back. "I must say that I am very glad to see you but what are you doing in Paris? Did the Comte come with you?"
"I am alone," Christine said softly.
Tallis turned her back and was stopped by the touch of Antoinette's hand on her arm.
"One moment," Antoinette said as she took Tallis' hand in her own, turning her around to face Christine. "Christine, this is my companion," Antoinette smiled at Tallis, "and my friend, Tallis Ordogne. Tallis, this is my other daughter," Antoinette turned her smile to Christine. "Christine, Vicomtess de Chagny."
Christine held out her hand. "It is just Christine"
Tallis took the offered hand and dropped a brief curtsey. "I am sorry for your loss, Madame."
"Thank you," Christine breathed, her eyes closing briefly.
Tallis turned to Antoinette. "I should go and attend to the kitchen."
"Go, child," Antoinette told her knowing that Tallis understood the unspoken meaning behind her words. She watched as Tallis left the room before taking Christine's hands and leading her to the sofa where they both sat. "What are you doing in Paris?" Antoinette asked again. "And alone, I might add."
Christine could not meet the older woman's eyes. "I am about to do something very foolish that will earn your displeasure," she said quietly. "I am running away."
Antoinette let go of Christine's hands. "Pardon?"
Christine rose to her feet and began to pace across the room. "I am running away," she repeated. "I am leaving Chagny and Paris forever. I cannot stay at Chagny any longer and I cannot bear to live in the house that Raoul and I shared."
"What you are feeling is normal considering the circumstances …" Antoinette began and she was cut off by the words that flowed rapidly from Christine.
"Raoul's family blames me for his death. We were having a disagreement and I could not tell him why and he thought there was another man." Christine raised a hand to the pounding in her temple. "And there was another person but I could not tell him and he did not understand and he thought I wanted a divorce."
"There was someone else?" Antoinette was shocked but found her question ignored by the woman lost in her own turmoil.
"And he went riding to give me time to decide what I wanted and he never came back. And those men did horrible things to him and then they killed him." Christine paused in her pacing, her eyes slowly closing. "And I heard Raoul's sisters say they thought I only married Raoul for his money. And then they said it was a good thing there was not a child because they would have had to take it from me so it would be raised properly. But they do not know that there is a baby. No one knows that there is a baby." Christine began to sway back and forth. "God, help me, Raoul did not even know."
Antoinette was shocked but rose to her feet, moving quickly to Christine's side, taking her by the arms.
"I am responsible for my husband's death because I could not tell him I was carrying our child," Christine whispered.
Antoinette was stunned and drew Christine back to the sofa, this time keeping hold of the highly-strung young woman so that she would remain still, capable of giving answers to questions Antoinette did not even begin to know how to ask. "You are pregnant?" was the first thing Antoinette asked. It was the first thing of which she needed to be sure. She watched Christine slowly nod her head. "And you never told Raoul?" Christine shook her head. "Dear God, child, why?"
Christine kept her eyes closed and her voice sounded hollow and distant. "Raoul and I tried so hard to have to a child and every month it was the same – no child. I was failing my husband, failing his family, his heritage. I heard the whispers regarding the mistake Raoul made by marrying so far beneath his station. I saw the disappointment in his eyes." Her chin began to tremble. "When I finally thought I was pregnant, I wanted to throw myself into Raoul's arms and tell him but I was so afraid."
"Of what?" Antoinette asked softly.
"Everything," Christine told her. "I am a prisoner of my fears." She turned her head toward the windows that overlooked the backyard, seeing shadows dance upon the clear panes. "I was never like that before … before …" Christine shook away the memory. "But Raoul understood and he was so patient and gentle. He always helped me to find a way past my fears. He was my strength, my belief." Christine turned back to Antoinette. "All I wanted was time. I wanted to be sure that I would not lose our child. I had heard too many stories of women who lost their babies in the first months. I just wanted to wait until the first months had passed and then I could tell Raoul safely and we could be happy. I was just so afraid to tell him, to see the joy in his eyes and what if I had lost our baby? I could not have borne the disappointment I would have brought to him." Christine sniffled back invisible tears. "Raoul was the one person in this world who believed in me, who trusted me, who never asked anything of me but that I was who I am. How could I let him down?"
The shock Antoinette was feeling caused her normally rational mind to wander in a million different directions; she focused on the one question uppermost in her mind. "When is the child due?"
"January," Christine told her.
Antoinette's mind raced through her thoughts, struggling to sort out feelings, ideas, answers. She set her lips in a fine line. "You must return to Chagny."
Christine struggled to pull away only to feel Antoinette's grip tighten on her arms. "I cannot," she insisted. "I cannot let them take my child!" Christine looked as if she wanted to cry. "This baby is all I have left of my husband. This baby is all I have left of the dreams that Raoul and I shared." Christine grew angry. "This baby is the last piece I have of the man I loved and I will allow no one to take her from me!"
Antoinette knew that set of Christine's chin; she had seen it far too often when the young dancer had to suffer under her corrections. "Christine," she tried again in a gentle tone, "this child is also all that Raoul's family has left of him."
"No!" Christine nearly screamed. "They cannot have my child!"
Antoinette sighed; Christine was still caught up in the dual, often deadly, throes of grief and guilt. She was not thinking clearly and all Antoinette could do was listen and try to guide the confused, desperate young woman. "What are you planning on doing?" she wondered. "Are you planning on telling Raoul's family about your child?"
Christine seemed to settle as she reached inside of herself, her gaze growing distant. "Raoul transferred a large sum of money to a bank account in my name when he thought I wanted to leave him. I have withdrawn the funds in small drafts under the name of Soderlund." She smiled. "I remembered the name from when I was small."
"It was your mother's maiden name," Antoinette told her.
Christine focused on her face. "Was it?" she asked and drifted away again. "Marie and I are going to Boulogne. She has family there and it is by the sea. Raoul and I met by the sea but I cannot return to Brittany for they will think to look for me there. No one will think to look for me in Boulogne." She focused again on Antoinette. "You will not tell? Promise me that should they come looking, you will not tell!"
"I am not happy about this," Antoinette said, "but I shall not tell; that is a promise. Now, will you tell them that there is a child?"
Christine nodded. "There is letter that is to be delivered to Philippe in two days time. It tells him everything I have told you." Christine began to shake. "I wish this could be different. I wish I could be the one to tell Philippe about my child but I cannot risk her future. I need to be sure that our child knows her father as I know him. I cannot and will not allow Raoul's child to be brought up in a world without love." The room started to spin. "Raoul would have loved and adored our baby. I am the reason he is dead. I owe him nothing less than to see that she is brought up with that adoration and love."
Antoinette drew Christine into her arms. "I know you love your child," she said softly as a single hand reached up to draw Christine's head to her shoulder. "And no matter what you may think, you are not responsible for your husband's death." Antoinette felt the head on her shoulder shake and she began to massage the neck beneath her hand. "And someday when you are thinking more clearly, you will realize the truth in those words." Antoinette rested her head against Christine's. "And when that time comes, you will also realize what it is you truly owe to yourself, your child and your husband's memory." She drew back and lifted Christine's face so that they looked each other in the eye. "Until that moment, I want you to care for yourself and this miracle you carry. And I want you to promise me that should you require anything, you will send for me. You need not face this alone."
"I promise," Christine replied softly. "When I know where I am staying, I will send a telegram."
"It is well." Antoinette nodded her head. "It is two days by train to Boulogne; I can be there whenever you need me."
Christine smiled wanly at her. "Can you answer one last question for me?
"As best I can," Antoinette replied.
"Why can I not cry?" Christine asked plaintively, as she placed herself back in Antoinette's arms, seeking the warmth and comfort the older woman had given since she had been a grieving child able to cry.
And out in the garden, just beyond sight of the window, another woman was finding herself drawn into a desperate embrace.
Tallis found she could do nothing but let Erik cling to her. Open hands levitated helplessly behind his back until they reached for his shoulder blades, fingertips tracing gentle circles over the well-defined muscles.
"There is a child," Erik whispered into her shoulder and turned his head to bury his face in the soft skin below her ear.
"I know," Tallis said; she, too, had overheard the conversation between Christine and Antoinette. When she had come to the kitchen, she had discovered an open back door and knew where Erik could be found. Tallis had left the kitchen, heading for the same windows through which she had overheard Erik's music playing and his conversation with Madame Giry that had sent her running away in tears. Tallis had found him there, at the window, listening to the voice of his angel, his face contorted in pain. She could only stand nearby waiting to comfort and to love, until he reached for her.
Erik drew back from Tallis' arms, studying her face with such grief that it took her breath away. "I am the reason for the fears," he told her softly, his hands moving gently down her arms to clasp her wrists. "I am the one who stole her innocence, her trust."
"You are not that man anymore," Tallis insisted softly.
There was a long moment of silence between them.
"Until I can earn her forgiveness," Erik began, lowering his eyes and drawing a deep breath. "Until I can restore that which I stole in my selfish greed, I am that man." He raised his head, a dangerous glow in the back of his eyes. "I am the beast," he snarled, a single hand going to Tallis cheek, "and you deserve the man, not the beast."
Tallis melted into Erik's touch, her eyes closing. And suddenly the touch was gone, leaving only the warmth of summer air in its place. Tallis opened her eyes to see Erik running across the back lawn, disappearing into the woods. She began to reach out a hand to him and thought better of it, knowing it was a useless gesture. A sob escaped her lips as she sunk to her knees.
"Oh, Erik."